


Pocket Mates

by Sarageek16



Category: teen wolf - Fandom
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Derek With Ears and Tail, Derek and Stiles are the Same Age, Fluff, Gen, Humans With Animal Characteristics, Kid Derek, Kid Fic, M/M, Multi, Nothing Hurts, Raven Stiles, Step-Brothers Stiles and Scott, Stiles With Wings, Wolf Derek, cuteness, kid stiles, seriously
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-03-22
Updated: 2014-03-22
Packaged: 2018-01-16 14:12:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,871
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1350307
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sarageek16/pseuds/Sarageek16
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Stiles and Derek meet in Zoa daycare. Henceforth, a crowbar wielded by a grizzly bear couldn't pry them apart.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Moving In

**Author's Note:**

> I am having issues with the last episode still. Like, I don't even know why this is bothering me so much but it is.
> 
> So what do I do?
> 
> I SMOTHER IT WITH FLUFF.  
> NOTHING HURTS.  
> ANGST? WAHT ANGST???
> 
> …
> 
> No but seriously, this is an AU where for no particular reason kids are sometimes born with animal-like traits. Just sometimes. Don't ask me why, I will seriously pull something sarcastic out of my ass.
> 
> JUST ENJOY THE CUTE OKAY.
> 
> (I should probably mention that I got the idea of Raven!Stiles from Tumblr, that is not mine, I had nothing to do with that, but the fact that ravens are called Wolf Birds really struck a kawaii chord with me.)
> 
> That is all.
> 
> -

 

“Are you ready?”

  
  
Stiles practically vibrated in place. He nodded enthusiastically, his head nearly dislodging the hands that covered his eyes. “Yep!”

  
  
“I don't know,” Scott, teased. “You don't look that ready. I mean, you just had all that ice cream, maybe we should wait for a bit--”

  
  
“I'm ready!” Stiles squealed, arms and wings flailing. He accidentally smacked Scott, prompting a low grunt. “Sorry!”

 

“It's okay, bud,” Scott assured him. He was the best big brother ever. He didn't get mad when Stiles molted in his room, or that time when he snorted milk all over his chest, or even when Stiles accidentally broke his lacrosse trophy.

  
  
“Can we do it now?” Stiles bounced.

 

“Okay,” Scott said warmly. “Ready, set—go!” he pulled his hands away and bolted for the stairs, long legs eating up the distance. Stiles tumbled after him, panting with excitement. They thundered up the stairs, a mess of excited winged boy and human teenager.

 

Stiles tripped, nearly knocking his chin on the steps, but his wings caught him enough that he was able to grab the rail. Scott paused for a moment, concerned, but when he saw that Stiles was fine he took the advantage with a gleeful grin.

 

“I'm gonna get the best room!” he called to his younger brother.

 

“No!” Red faced, Stiles stumbled up the last of the steps and ran for the room that he'd picked out. It was _his_ and Scott wasn't gonna take it from him.

 

In a burst of speed, he slithered around Scott's legs and scrambled toward the blue door. His hands slipped on the doorknob before he finally got it open with a triumphant grin.

 

“Ha!” he shouted, tumbling into the room. The floors were hard and cold on his knees but he had _beat Scott._ He rolled onto his wings with a happy sigh, spreading his arms and legs.

 

Scott came in to look down at him with a scowl. “Dang it,” he said. “I _really_ wanted this room.”

 

Stiles stuck his tongue out at him. “Too bad,” he taunted happily. “It's _mine._ ”

 

“You're a sneaky little crow, you know that?”

 

Even though he knew he was being teased, Stiles' dark wings puffed with indignation. He scrambled up, stomping over to poke Scott hard in the thigh. “I am not a _crow._ ”

 

“Are you sure? Because--”

 

“My wings,” Stiles began, very proudly, “are _iri-des-cent._ They are rainbow-y and pointy, Scott. Also, I am smarter than a crow.”

 

“I dunno,” Scott looked off to the side, biting his mouth to keep from laughing. They'd had this conversation many times, yet the five year old never failed to look like Scott had just murdered his cat. “I mean, I've met some pretty smart--”

 

“Scott,” came a warning tone from behind him.

 

“Mommy,” Stiles turned the full force of his pout on Melissa. He was a manipulative little shit, Scott thought fondly. He even made his eyes glimmer slightly. “Scott's being mean. Make him stop?”

 

“Scott's just being a sore loser, that's all.” she quirked a smile and looked around the bedroom. “So, this is your new space, huh?”

 

“Yep,” Stiles said proudly. “I'm gonna build the best room ever in here.”

 

“Want to start?” Melissa offered, extending a hand to him. “I think the moving men have started bringing your stuff off the truck.”

 

Stiles' entire face seemed to glow at the prospect.

 

Melissa slyly managed to convince her step son that it was of the utmost importance that the small stuff went up the stairs first. (He was smart, but he was still five. God knew what they were gonna do when he became a teenager, though.)

 

While Scott hefted his bed frame up the stairs, Stiles took his Batman comforter, pillows, and other soft, unbreakable things up to his bedroom. The moving men navigated around his small body, amused at his enthusiasm.

 

The house to the left side of them was empty, but on the right there was an old woman who came up the the fence to talk.

 

“Is it just you and your boys?” she asked, nosy from the start. She patted at her thick red hair, as if the prospect made her anxious.

 

“Oh no,” Melissa's made sure her expression didn't change from the smile she'd fixed on her face. “My husband is the new sheriff in town—literally. He's down at the station, checking a few things out.”

 

“I see.” The old woman's brown eyes slid to Stiles as he leaped out of the house, heading for the next thing he could carry. “There is a group in town,” she said almost haltingly. “A daycare of sorts, for children like that one.” she nodded to Stiles.

 

“The politically correct term is 'Zoa',” Melissa informed her with a pleasant tone. “But thanks.”

 

They had, in fact, already looked into that. It had been one of their motivations for moving to Beacon Hills. Stiles would be going there the day after tomorrow.

 

The rest of the day was spent getting as much as they could put away. Stiles made more mess than he cleaned, and he was swaying with exhaustion by the time night fell. He pushed his macaroni into little piles, eyes drooping.

 

“Alright, bud,” John finally decided to take pity on the kid. He stood, pushing his chair back, and walked around to scoop up his wilting son. “A quick bath and then bed for you.” Melissa and Scott waved at Stiles, who waved back sleepily.

  
  
During the bath, Stiles poked at his rubber ducky and tilted his head back when John went to rinse his hair. Teeth clean and pajamas donned, John tucked him into his bed. A few brushes of a hand across his wings and he went right to sleep.

 

John sat there for a while, just watching his youngest son twitch and murmur in his sleep. Finally, he hefted himself up and turned on the night light.

 

He bumped into Scott in the hallway.

  
  
“He's sleeping?” the teenager asked quietly, nodding to Stiles' room. The door was cracked just in case the kid got scared or had to use the bathroom.

 

“Out like a light,” John confirmed. “You heading in too?”

 

“Yeah,” Scott brushed a hand through his shaggy hair. “It's been a long day.”

  
  
“You're okay with this, right?” John wasn't good at this— _teenager_ thing: heck, the last heart-to-heart he'd had with Stiles was about crusts on peanut butter and jelly sandwiches. But it had to be asked. “Moving?”

 

Scott shrugged. “I'll be okay.”

  
  
It wasn't much of an answer, but John would take what he would get. From all that he'd seen and heard in his years as a cop, he knew he was lucky that the fifteen year old was so easy. “Alright then.” he clapped the kid on the shoulder. “Goodnight.”

 

“Night, Sheriff.”

 

-

 


	2. Derek and the Magic Ring

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Not even gonna lie, I'm kind of really proud of myself for this one.

Derek's uncle Peter was a liar.

 

His mommy said lying was bad, but Peter did it all the time anyway. But he was so good at it that Derek couldn't help but believe him sometimes.

 

“If you give me your cookies,” Peter told him, his lighter ears flicking back and forth, “I'll give you this.” he reached into his pocket and pulled out a ring. It was gray and kind of shiny, with a little red circle on the end.

 

Derek frowned at him, holding his cookies closer to his chest. They were oatmeal raisin, his favorite—and Peter's favorite, too. Peter had already eaten his up so he wanted Derek's. “No.”

 

“It's a magic ring,” his uncle promised. He was only a thirteen, but he seemed almost grown up as he explained. “If you wish hard enough, it can make you really popular.” When he saw Derek's confused expression, he elaborated, “That means a lot of kids will like you.”

 

Derek scowled suspiciously, eying the plastic thing. His tail swayed, unsure. “Really?”

 

If Laura were here, he would have checked with her. His big sister was just as smart as Peter, even if she wasn't as old as him. But Laura was at school still, practicing with the little league baseball team.

 

“Really,” Peter confirmed. “You just put it on and close your eyes and think really, really hard about happy stuff. And then poof!” he splayed a hand. “Instant friends. But you can't tell Talia or Mason or anybody else about the ring. If you do, the magic'll stop working.”

 

Derek considered. “I wanna test it first.”

  
  
“Okay.” Peter grinned. He put the ring in Derek's hand, watching as he slid it onto a pudgy finger.

 

“I just close my eyes?”

 

“Yep.”

  
  
So Derek did. He closed his eyes real hard, little eyebrows furrowing and ears pricking with concentration. _Hugs, cookies, his baby sister kicking him from his mommy's tummy._

 

And when he opened his eyes, Peter was hugging him.

 

“Derek?” he called, “Derek, help, I can't—I can't stop _hugging_ you.”

 

“Sorry,” Derek grinned, little giggles building in his chest. Peter's fingers wriggled down his stomach and found his ticklish spots, making laughter escape.

 

They played chase for a little while, until Peter finally asked Derek if he was ready to take the ring off. “You don't want to use up all the magic,” he said.

 

“Alright.” Derek took off the ring. His tail wagged excitedly as Peter really looked at him.

 

“You really liked me,” Derek said smugly.

 

“I did,” Peter agreed. He stretched out a hand. “So? You gonna give 'em up or not?”

 

Derek gave him the cookies. It was a small price to pay, after all, for a magic ring.

 

The next morning, when it was time for Derek to go to daycare, he was excited. He had carefully tucked the ring into his pocket that morning. His daddy looked at him curiously as he helped him get out of the car, pulling his portable 'den' out s well.

 

“You look eager, buddy. Did you make a new friend?” he couldn't help the hopeful note that crept into his tone. Derek hadn't adapted to suddenly being around other Zoa as well as they'd hoped.

 

Zoas were commonly domesticated animals—cats, dogs, rabbits, mice, even the occasional lizard. Derek was the only 'exotic' species at the daycare. Talia and Mason had sent Laura here when she was small, and she'd flourished.

 

Derek was shyer than his sister, not used to the other kids. It didn't help that they were slightly wary of him. Instincts were a hard thing to suppress, especially in such young ones. His parents had discussed pulling him out, but so far Derek hadn't complained of loneliness. They decided to give it time.

 

“Not yet,” his son smiled up at him.

 

“Okay then.” Mason raised an eyebrow but didn't ask. He figured it would come out sooner or later. Five year olds, even quiet five year olds, couldn't keep secrets for long.

 

They entered the big colorful building hand in hand. Derek had his little red bookbag on his back, his lunch packed and ready. Their tails brushed together comfortingly as they walked.

 

Greenburg was manning the desk, his choppy black hair bent over a sci-fi novel. Mason could hear his tail whipping back and forth, thumping against the chair he sat in. Apparently the book was getting good.

 

He cleared his throat, smiling with mild amusement as the black lab shot to attention.

  
“Mr. Hale! Younger Mr. Hale!” he nodded to Derek, who's fingers tightened around his father's. “Good morning! Why don't you guys sign right in over here--” he put the book down and pulled out the clipboard, which had a little ears and a tail glued to it. He reached out for Derek's small tent. Mason handed it over.

 

Hands free, he signed Derek in as Greenburg opened the bright blue divider that led to the rest of the daycare.

 

“Okay,” Greenburg smiled cheerily when he was finished, his green eyes curving with the movement. “You'll be back around four, yes?”

 

“Yes,” Mason replied. He let Derek release their joined hands first, then smoothed a hand across the top of his son's head. “Have a good day, Derek. I love you.”

“Love you too, Daddy.” The wolf pup leaned into the touch for a moment before following Greenburg into the back.

 

He had a cubby with his name on it. Greenburg waited as he took his backpack off and put it up along with his jacket. Behind him, Zoas were playing in groups.

 

He put his hands in his pockets and curled a fist around his trusty ring.

 

Today was gonna be better. He was sure of it.

 

Everybody was in the play room. The puppies tumbled together in the corner while Katie, a kitten Zoa, was bossing two other cats around in the mini kitchen. Peter and Henry, rabbits, were curled up together in their tent. They were scared of Derek 'cause he growled at them once. He'd only been playing, but they didn't want to talk to him after that.

 

Mr. Finstock was standing near the art section. He already had a big hand print on his forehead. He looked a little crazy but he was actually really nice.

 

“Greenburg!” the human barked when they came in. “Set that den up and get over here before I _lose my mind._ ”

 

“What's wrong, sir?” Greenburg set up the den in Derek's usual territory. He was really good at it, so it was set up fast.

 

“I'll tell you what's wrong,” Mr. Finstock said. “This kid--” he pointed to a giggling puppy who was covered head to toe in paint. “--has been at this station for all of _twenty-two seconds._ Look at him, Greenburg.”

 

“Coming, sir.” Greenburg handed Derek his blanket and pillow, which had been wrapped up with the tent, and went to soothe Mr. Finstock.

 

Derek crawled into his tent. It was big and blue. He had picked it out when he was little, 'cause his mom said all little Zoas need their own space. One of the biggest rules at the daycare was, _no one is allowed in others territory unless given explicit permission._

 

“So if Hailey doesn't want your toes in her den, Kaleb, what do you do?” Mr. Finstock had asked.

  
  
“Keep my toes outta her den?” Kaleb asked hopefully. 

 

“Keep your toes outta her den,” Mr. Finstock nodded, hands on his hips. “God help you if you even try. That one's got teeth on her, and she ain't afraid to use 'em.”

 

Other kids invited each other into their dens. Derek never got an invite, though. He'd waited and waited but nobody asked him.

 

Now, Derek put his things inside very neatly. Usually he would go and get a picture book to read, but now was a good time to use his ring.

 

Derek crawled out of his den and sat in front of it, hope rising in him. He took the ring out of his pocket and slid it on his thumb. Then he let his eyes fall shut.

 

He wanted only the best kind of friend, so he thought really, really hard about the best things. Like that time Laura hit a home run and everybody cheered for her. When his mommy let him help make dinner, stirring everything together to make yummy stuff. His daddy lifting him on his shoulders so that he was the tallest boy in the world. His tummy felt warm.

 

When he opened his eyes, though, no one had come up to him. The rabbits were still sleeping. The puppies were still playing. Katie was waving a plastic carrot around, stomping her foot at the scared kittens.

 

No one had noticed Derek.

 

He felt his eyes start to fill with tears. Peter had lied. The ring didn't work. Miserable, he pulled his legs up to his chest and began to sniffle.

 

“And this, Stiles, is the play room--”

 

“Oooh! _Shiny!_ ”

 

There was this weird rustling sound and a breeze. Derek opened his eyes and blinked just as a little boy with dark wings and messy hair crouched in front of him, his cheeks flushed.

 

“Man,” he breathed, pulling Derek's hand away from his knee. He was staring at Derek's ring. “That is. So. Pretty. Can I have it?”

  
  
“Stiles.” A man with a badge on his chest came over. “Son, stop messing with that poor boy.”

 

“I'm _not._ ” Stiles pouted. He looked at Derek. “Am I?”

 

Mute with disbelief, Derek shook his head.

 

“See? This is my new friend. What's your name again?”

  
  
“D-Derek.” He peered at his new best friend with near-worshipful eyes. The ring had worked!

  
  
“Derek.” Stiles nodded. “I'm Stiles. I'm a Raven. Are you a puppy? No, your fur's messier.” he reached down and tugged Derek's tail. His expression lit up. “You're a wolf!”

 

“Y-yeah.”

  
“That is. So. Cool. Is this your den?” Without waiting for an answer, he crawled past Derek and into the tent. His wings somehow went past the doorway, lightly knocking Derek in the chest. “Wow!” his voice came from inside, kinda muffled. “It's really big in here!”

 

“Oh my God,” the man with the badge said. He had his face in his hands. “Oh my God,” he repeated.

 

Derek just tried not to glow too much.

 


End file.
